The Mature Taxi Driver Who Waited for Me Every Night

We never quite manage to know what is good for us. There are always doubts, always fear. We weigh what we gain against what we lose, and in the end we choose a path surrounded by circumstances that cloud what we truly wanted. I learned that one night, inside a car parked in front of a dark beach, and I still wonder what would have happened if I had said yes completely.

What I’m about to tell you is real, and it happened over the course of a year, when I was twenty-three and believed the world owed me something simply because of the face I’d been given.

From a very young age, the people around my family made sure to remind me that I had a “gift.” The gift of being desirable. At first I thought the compliments were because I was funny or quick-witted, but I couldn’t ignore that the word I heard most often about myself was “handsome,” and that many doors opened for me solely because of my looks. I grew up accustomed to that, and also to using it, though I didn’t recognize it at the time.

Around then I started hanging out with a group of boys and girls whom people in my neighborhood called “weird.” They were rebellious and modern, lived at night, and laughed at the rules I had been raised by. Drawn in by the unknown, I gradually fell in with them without realizing it. I soon understood that almost all the boys were gay, and that among the girls there were some who preferred women too. I had never put a name to what I felt, but there, for the first time, I didn’t have to hide it.

One of them, Tomás, opened up a world I had only heard rumors about: nighttime cruising. He frequented parks, vacant lots, industrial estates on the outskirts, and came back with stories he told me while we smoked on a bench. As I listened to him, I realized that his desire for men was very much like mine, the desire I still kept under lock and key.

“You have to stop watching and start living,” he told me one night. “You’re going to grow old keeping it all bottled up. Let them suck you off, let them fuck you, let yourself come in some guy’s mouth. Whatever. But stop pretending you aren’t dying to try it.”

One of those early mornings he told me about a taxi driver he’d been with a couple of times. He described it all in detail, leaving nothing out: how the guy had made him kneel between his legs inside the car, how he had shoved his cock down his throat until he cried, how he had come all over his face and he had swallowed it. He saw him now and then, always inside his car, always from a distance. That night the man parked near us and Tomás walked over to the window. I stayed behind, my hands in my pockets, pretending to look at my phone. But I noticed something strange: Tomás was talking to him, yes, and yet both of them turned their heads toward me every few seconds.

***

Tomás came back slowly, wearing a crooked smile.

“He wants to meet you,” he said. “He’s more interested in you than in me. Says you get him hard just by looking at him. Says that if he gets you into the taxi, he’s going to fuck you until he splits you open.”

I should have said no. I should have laughed and gone home. Instead I nodded, my heart pounding against my chest, and walked toward the taxi like someone leaning over a balcony that was far too high.

I was nervous. But when I saw him there, sitting behind the wheel with his legs spread wide and his arm resting on the window, he seemed more attractive than I had imagined from a distance. He was a man of about forty-nine, strong and broad-shouldered, with a slight belly pulling tight against his shirt. He wore a thin black mustache, his temples already gray, and his somewhat rough manner intimidated and attracted me in equal measure. A thick, long bulge showed between his legs, rising along his thigh, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“Get in. We can talk better in here,” he said, pointing to the passenger seat.

I obeyed. The door closed with a dull thud and the noise of the street stayed outside. Inside, it smelled of cold tobacco and pine air freshener. He looked me up and down without bothering to conceal it, like someone evaluating a purchase. His eyes moved over my mouth, my neck, the bulge in my own trousers, and he licked his lips beneath his mustache.

“Look what you’re doing to me,” he said suddenly, bringing a hand to his trousers, where an obvious bulge strained the fabric. “Look at her. She’s coming out. Touch her, don’t be shy.”

Curiosity overcame my embarrassment. Without thinking too much, I reached out and stroked him through his clothes. He was big, much bigger than I expected, and hardened beneath my fingers. I felt its thickness along his thigh, from his balls to the tip, and felt it throbbing alive beneath the fabric. He let out a slow breath and smiled. He grabbed my wrist and pressed my hand against his cock, forcing me to squeeze it.

“See how hard I am?” he whispered. “And you haven’t even done anything yet. Wait until you put it in your mouth. Wait until you feel it inside you.”

“My name’s Ramón,” he said, his voice lower now. “I’ve wanted you for a while. Ever since I saw you with your friend. Every time I jerk off at home, I think about that mouth of yours.”

He didn’t give me time to answer. He started the car, and as he drove he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close with a firm gentleness, like a man accustomed to getting his way. I rested my cheek against his thigh and felt, very close to my face, the heat of his crotch and the hurried rhythm of his breathing. His cock moved beneath his trousers, inches from my mouth, and the smell of a sweaty man mingled with the taxi’s cheap air freshener. Without realizing it, I began rubbing his bulge with my cheek, sliding over the rough denim, and he let out a low growl and squeezed the back of my neck with his free hand.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re already smelling her, aren’t you? You want her already.”

I nodded, unable to speak, my mouth dry. I undid the button of his trousers without asking permission, almost clumsily, and slowly lowered the zipper. His cock sprang out, thick and hot, pointing toward the roof, its glans shining with a drop of fluid hanging from the tip. I stared at it with my face pressed against his thigh. Ramón drew my head toward him without roughness, guiding me, and I stuck out my tongue and licked the tip, gathering up that salty drop. He shuddered behind the wheel and the car swerved slightly.

“Easy,” he murmured, though he was the one who needed to stay calm. “We’re just going somewhere no one will bother us. Then you can do it to me properly.”

I took him all the way into my mouth, as far as I could, and started sucking him while he drove. I felt him grow even larger between my lips, thick and heavy, bumping against my palate. Ramón squeezed the back of my neck whenever we passed a traffic light, setting the pace, forcing me to swallow more. My mouth filled with saliva and his manly taste. We crossed empty streets, traffic lights blinking amber, a long avenue beside the sea, and I didn’t raise my head once, sucking him hungrily, my jaw already aching.

When I lifted my head, we were already in the parking lot of a dark beach. There was no one around. Only the murmur of the water and, in the distance, streetlamps trembling across the asphalt. My lips were swollen and a thread of drool ran down my chin. He looked at me and chuckled under his breath.

“Fuck, you suck like that for a first time? You’ll see what this cock is going to do to you.”

***

Ramón turned off the engine and turned toward me. The dashboard light left half his face in shadow.

“Look what you’re doing to me,” he repeated, and this time he pulled his trousers and underwear all the way down to his knees.

He slowly pulled out his cock, almost proudly. It was long and a good size, though not especially thick, with veins standing out along the shaft and heavy balls hanging between his thighs. He began stroking it while staring fixedly at me, inviting me with his eyes to do it for him. He spat into his palm and rubbed it up and down, making the purple glans shine. I stayed still, divided between desire and a modesty I couldn’t quite shake.

“I’m not in a hurry,” he said, misinterpreting my silence. “But don’t leave me like this. Come on, eat it again. Keep it warm for when I put it in you.”

I placed my hand on his thigh and then grabbed him at the base, squeezing him. I felt him throb against my palm. I lowered my head and sucked him again, this time without the steering wheel in the way, and I was able to take him deeper. Ramón threaded his fingers through my hair and began fucking my mouth, thrusting his hips upward and making me choke. Every time he pulled his cock out I took a breath, and he put it back in all the way. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes and a thread of saliva falling from my chin to my chest. The feel of my fingers against his hot skin excited him even more. He tore open his shirt, exposing a broad, hairy chest, and leaned back against the seat with his cock pointing toward the roof, hard as a stick, glistening with my saliva.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered. “All of them. I want to see your ass.”

I did it, first my shirt, then everything else, awkwardly inside the cramped space of the car. My trousers caught around my ankles and he laughed as he watched me struggle with the laces. When I was finally naked, my hard cock stuck to my belly and dripping, Ramón looked me up and down and grabbed his own, stroking it slowly.

“Turn around. Show me your ass, goddammit.”

I turned around as best I could in the seat, kneeling and bracing myself against the door with my ass toward him. I felt his large hands open my cheeks, pulling them completely apart, and then a long, hot lick across my hole. I shuddered. He started eating my ass eagerly, burying his face between my cheeks, covering me with spit, pushing the tip of his tongue inside me. I bit down on the back of the seat so I wouldn’t moan too loudly. He put in one finger, then two, slick with spit, slowly opening me while whispering obscenities against my skin.

“You’re going to suck my cock with this little ass of yours. You’ll see. You’re going to come with my dick inside you.”

By then I was so aroused that my hands were trembling. I sat up, swung one leg over his, and straddled him, kneeling on the seat and wrapping my thighs around his waist. His cock was right beneath me, pressed between my ass and his belly, hard and hot. I went looking for his mouth, wanting to kiss him on the lips.

He turned his face away.

“No kissing,” he said firmly. “That’s not happening. I fuck you. I don’t kiss you.”

That “no” hurt more than I expected. There was something in me looking for tenderness where he only wanted release, and I understood, too late, that we were playing different games. Even so, I didn’t get off him. I stayed on top of him, feeling his agitated breathing against my neck, his hardness pressed between us. Ramón spat on his fingers and ran them over my hole, coating it, then spat on his cock and rubbed it, pointing it upward as he searched for me.

Ramón held me by the waist with his big hands and guided me backward, trying to position himself against me. I felt the tip pressing insistently, probing my hole, and a stab of pain when the glans began forcing its way in. I clenched my teeth and gripped his chest.

“Slowly,” I begged. “Slowly, or I’m getting off.”

“Slowly, easy,” he agreed, easing the pressure. “You lower yourself. Go on. Take as much as you can.”

I braced myself on his shoulders and began lowering myself millimeter by millimeter while I breathed deeply, trying to yield without breaking. The tip went in suddenly and I let out a sharp gasp. At first I pulled back, unable to bear it, with the feeling that something inside me was splitting apart. Then, patiently, my body began to open for him. I lowered myself a little, rose, then lowered myself again, and each time I managed to swallow another centimeter of that long cock. He squeezed my hips with his huge hands without forcing me, panting every time he sank a little deeper into me. He didn’t get in more than a third of the way, but that single sensation of having him inside me, of feeling myself filled by that mature man who wanted me so desperately, of feeling the glans pushing against something deep inside, overwhelmed me.

I began moving on top of him, rising and lowering myself slowly, riding him with my hands braced on his hairy chest. Ramón watched me with his mouth half open, licking his lower lip beneath his mustache, and every so often he slapped my ass, the sound echoing inside the car.

“That’s it, handsome. That’s it. Ride my cock. Move on top of me. Fuck, what an ass you have.”

My own cock bounced between us, hard and wet with pre-cum, rubbing against his hairy belly with every movement. Braced against his stomach, panting, with his dick buried inside me and his hoarse voice whispering filth into my ear, I came almost without touching myself, in a long spasm that shook my entire body, splattering his belly and chest with thick jets of cum that ran down to the hair on his pubis, trembling uncontrollably. My ass clenched around his cock with every wave, milking him inside me.

“Fuck,” he murmured, surprised. “I haven’t even done anything to you. You came with my cock inside you, you bastard. Without touching yourself.”

***

I slipped off him slowly, feeling his glans leave my body with a small tug, still leaving behind a trace of discomfort, and began gathering my clothes from the floor of the car. I could feel my ass open, wet, throbbing, and a thin trickle of saliva and fluid running down my thigh. My head had cleared all at once, as it always does afterward, and with that lucidity came something resembling prudence. Or fear—I don’t know which.

“Wait,” Ramón said, sitting up with his cock still stiff and pointing toward the roof, shining and smeared with me. “Ride me again. Let me finish too, even if it’s only a little. Even if you suck me off. Even if you jerk me off. Don’t leave me like this, goddammit.”

I shook my head. I was satisfied, and that selfish satisfaction made me feel, for the first time that night, that I was the one in control. The bundle of nerves who had gotten into the taxi was now dressing calmly while a forty-nine-year-old man, naked from the waist down, his cock hard and dripping, begged him.

“Finish yourself,” I told him. “Watch me while I get dressed. And jerk off thinking about the ass that didn’t let you finish.”

I said it without thinking, almost out of innocent cruelty, and it worked. He watched me, gripping his cock in his right hand and masturbating slowly, his fingers tightening around the glans with every upward stroke. I put on my shirt without looking at him, drawing out every movement, folding the collar of the garment with more care than necessary. I pulled on my underwear slowly, then my trousers, fastening the button very deliberately. Ramón stroked his dick faster and faster, his breathing broken, spitting into his palm to wet it, never taking his eyes off me for a second. He had trouble finishing. A good while passed like that, his forehead beaded with sweat, his chest stained with my now-dry cum, his hand moving up and down his glistening cock, his gaze fixed on me like a hungry dog. Finally, when I was almost fully dressed, he came with a long, hoarse moan, shooting thick jets that splattered the dashboard, the steering wheel, and the roof of the car, running down his fingers to the hair on his belly.

He stayed still for a moment, catching his breath, his cock still in his hand and a white thread hanging from his fist. Then, without saying anything, he took two packets of napkins from the glove compartment and cleaned himself with a deliberateness that seemed almost sad to me. He wiped his fingers, his belly, his hair, the tip of his cock, and finally the steering wheel and dashboard.

“Take me home,” I asked him, and I said it like an order, not a favor.

He looked at me strangely, as though fascinated by my newly acquired coldness, and finished buttoning his shirt without protesting. He pulled up his underwear with his cock still half soft, fastened his trousers, started the car, and for a while we retraced the route in silence.

***

It was on the drive back that, paradoxically, I felt closest to him. We talked. About his work, the endless nights behind the wheel, the double life he led, and the wife waiting for him at home without knowing anything. He told me he had spent years looking in boys like me for something he didn’t know how to name, and that he almost never found it.

“It’s not just the sex,” he said, his eyes fixed on the road. “It’s having you look at me. Having someone young look at me the way you looked at me when you got in. Having you get hard for me, at my age. You can’t buy that.”

I didn’t know what to say. He dropped me off at the same corner where he had picked me up. Before I got out, he kept looking at me for a second longer than necessary, as if waiting for me to say something. I didn’t. I shut the door and the taxi disappeared down the street, its green light on, ready for another night.

That early morning, in my bed, I couldn’t help going over it all again and again. The feeling of his cock opening me from within, his broken voice asking me to stay, the way he had begged me. I pulled down my underwear and began jerking off while remembering how he had eaten my ass, how he had fucked my mouth on the road, how he had come for me like a teenager. I pushed two spit-wet fingers into my hole, still sensitive, and came over my belly thinking about him, his thin mustache, his big hands. I discovered that what turned me on most wasn’t what we had done, but everything we hadn’t managed to do: his whole cock inside me up to the balls, his hot cum shooting deep into my ass, his mouth finally yielding to mine.

I went back to that parking lot many more nights over the following months, looking for a taxi with a thin mustache and gray at the temples. I never found him. Tomás told me Ramón had stopped showing up in the area, that maybe he’d been caught, or maybe he’d simply gotten tired of it. No one knew the answer.

In time I learned that opportunities, like that taxi driver, don’t warn you when they leave. One night they’re there, waiting for you with their legs spread and their cock hard, and the next all that remains is the empty spot where the car had been. I had mine and let it pass me by halfway, out of pride, out of fear, because of that gift that had so often served as my shield and that time left me aching to be fucked all the way.

Even today, when I get into a taxi and the driver is a mature man with big hands and a hoarse voice, I catch myself looking at him in the rearview mirror, wondering if it might be him, knowing it isn’t, and admitting, deep down, that the cock that never quite split me open is still the one that burns the most.